


Good Must Now Be Close at Hand

by donutsweeper



Category: Agent X (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8638687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: For a man like John Case, an uncertain cover was an inconvenient thing.Having an uncertain cover when flat on one's back in the hospital recovering from major surgery? That crossed the line from inconvenient to downright dangerous.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Framlingem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Framlingem/gifts).



> Thanks to BridgetMcKennitt for the beta!

  
_"For neither good nor evil can last for ever; and so it follows that as evil has lasted a long time, good must now be close at hand._  
― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

 

An uncertain cover was an inconvenient thing.

Having an uncertain cover when flat on one's back in the hospital recovering from major surgery? That crossed the line from inconvenient to downright dangerous. Because of that, in a weird, twisted way, John had thought himself lucky that he was so badly injured because he couldn't be expected to be able to answer questions like who he was and how he'd been injured when there was a tube down his throat helping him breathe.

The fact the questions didn't come once the tube was removed was strange though. Actually, all things considered, the hospital was not treating him remotely how he had expected. Granted, his usual experience with various medical establishments around the world was _avoiding_ any and all of them as much as he possibly could, but still as far as he could tell they were acting like he was a VIP, not like he was the black books nonentity he knew himself to be. 

It was confusing.

There was no way the DCRI badge Volker had provided would have stood up to any sort of scrutiny and someone figuring out he'd been impersonating a French Intelligence Agent should have resulted in his immediate arrest. Where were his handcuffs? His guard? Why wasn't the police or some country's secret service there in the hospital room, hovering over him? Yes, he wound up saving a whole slew of politicians, but he'd always assumed that doing that sort of thing led to a lot of paperwork and often a nice chunk of time spent locked in a tiny, dark room before enduring long, uncomfortable, interrogations, which is why he'd always done his damnedest to avoid having any attention brought to himself until now. 

But the President and Vice President were safe. That was what mattered. 

And Olga made it out. At least he assumed she did. He knew that she'd managed to lead Eckhart and the others out of the theater, so he was pretty sure that meant she'd made it past whatever men Volker had planted around the building and then slipped away, most likely to never to be seen again. In the long run that was probably for the best, but oddly, considering their history together, he was going to miss her.

"Hey, kid."

It took a moment of concentrating before he was able to focus enough to clearly see who was standing in the doorway to his suite. Yes, he had a suite. In a hospital. He didn't know why, but if she was here than she probably had some kind of explanation for it. "Madam Vice President." 

"I know, I know, don't call you kid. I must say, you look like hell," she added dryly as she entered.

"Funny thing, apparently cauterizing shut a bullet wound when the bullet's still inside isn't that great a thing to do to yourself. What a surprise, right?"

She grimaced at that but John wasn't sure what emotion he was seeing on her face. Disgust? Surprise? Revulsion? Concern? "You… did what? How?"

"I got shot in the kitchen and didn't have a lot of time to deal with it, so I just used one of those little blow torch things they had there to heat up a knife and," he mimed pressing the knife against his side, "voilà, no more risk of losing too much blood to finish the mission. But, as it turns out, running around, jumping off balconies and getting into knockdown, drag out fist fights while bleeding internally is a really bad idea."

Shaking her head, she grabbed the exceptionally plush visitor's chair and pulled it next to his bed and settled into it. "I always forget. No, that's not quite right. I never considered or even bothered to question the methods you would go to in order to complete a mission. The extremes I was ordering you to—"

"Ma'am, you didn't order me on this one. In fact, if I remember correctly, I quit. Frankly," he added, because he was tired, heavily medicated, and very, very stupid, "I'm surprised I haven't been arrested for treason."

She stiffened at that, back straight and firm, without a hint of unease or uncertainty remaining in her stance; there was the Natalie Maccabee he'd come to know and respect these last few months. "Tell me, John, had Volker already taken Pamela before you, shall we say, resigned?" she asked. Her voice was firm, with a hint of force behind it.

Well, technically yes, but he hadn't known it at the time. He'd just been sick of the lies and deceit and he'd felt he'd had no choice since he couldn't trust Malcolm anymore; finding out Ray had Pamela hadn't come until later, but what did it matter? John didn't know what to make of her inquiry. What did she expect him to tell her? What was she fishing for?

He decided to go with the truth. "Yes," he began, but she didn't let him explain any further.

"Then I'm sorry to say I am unable to accept your resignation as it was made under duress. And since you did just save the life of the President, as well as that of his wife, the German chancellor, and numerous other heads of state and their spouses, and not to mention mine—"

"I didn't have a direct hand in all of that," he pointed out, interrupting her yet again. "You got out all on your own." In all likelihood no one would have made it out alive had he and Olga not been there, but there was always a chance that Volker might have found the smallest shred of decency or compassion that was left in his body and released all the hostages except for the six he was 'trying' on the stage in his farce of a war crimes court. 

Maccabee responded with an undignified snort, obviously not buying what he was selling. Which, since he didn't believe it himself, he really couldn't blame her. "You saved us all, John."

"I had help." If it hadn't been for Olga or Malcolm and the men he'd brought he never would have survived.

"Accept the compliment, that's an order," she said, but her tone was light, almost teasing.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

"That's better. Now, regarding your status as Agent X. As I said, I am unfortunately unable to accept your previous resignation due to the circumstances it was made under and as you are currently under the influence of heavy narcotics I won't be able to accept it if you were to offer it again now, but, once you're well it will be perfectly within your rights to come to me and tell me that it is still your wish to leave the program and I will abide by your decision despite how strongly I disagree with it."

"You… disagree with it." John tried to keep the censure out of his voice, but considering the way her eyes narrowed he was pretty sure he failed. "Do you have any idea who Volker really is? Or, who he was anyway? To this program? To me?"

"Raymond Marks reinvented himself as Nicholas Volker after Malcolm deemed him a threat and attempted to 'eliminate' him despite, or possibly because of, his being a previous Agent X. Your predecessor in fact."

That surprised John, completely taking the wind out of his sails. "Malcolm told you?" 

"No. I found out on my own. Malcolm confirmed it though, once he realized how much I already knew."

That… seemed more likely. Actually, that seemed like the only way she could have found out that little factoid- Malcolm horded his secrets, but if she found out the truth and ordered him to tell her, well, the man was a soldier and would follow his orders. 

"It's because of Volker, of who he was and because of Malcolm and who he is that I need you, John. The entire program is in shambles; it's a complete and utter mess. It needs to be rebuilt from the ground up and I need someone I trust to do it."

"But, the Constitution?"

"Judge Thorne has assured me that the legality behind Agent X and my ability to command him or her is not in question and if I can't trust the Chief Justice's word on that, than who's can I trust?" She shook her head. "He also began to lecture me on times of crisis and enemies and hatchets, but unfortunately I was called away then and was forced to cut our conversation short." 

Meaning she cut it short on purpose. Meaning what? That she wanted something out of the program other than murder and deceit? That she had her own vision for what it could be? John didn't know, he was under the influence of far too many medications to try to work that out at the moment. "I don't know what kind of recovery window I'm looking at or what sort of legal issues I'm going to face when I try to walk out of here."

"Oh," she said, smiling that enigmatic smile of hers, "didn't anyone tell you? Despite your extremely important and time sensitive deep cover assignment, when you discovered the threat against the participants of the emergency nuclear non-proliferation summit in Paris you were able to infiltrate the group responsible and pose, as they did, as a DCRI agent so not to arouse suspicion. Then, once on the premises you, along with your partner, were able to thwart their plans. Unfortunately, due to the nature of your original mission, publicly acknowledging either of your roles in the entire affair would be incredibly dangerous so therefore there will be no awarding of, if I might say, well deserved medals, but you will be receiving five star treatment here as a small way of offering the thanks of many a grateful nation."

John chuckled, ignoring the slight increase of pain it caused- the laugh was worth it. "That is quite the brilliant spin there. You come up with it all on your own?"

"President Eckhart helped. I didn't know about the woman who was working with you."

"She got out okay then?"

"Yes. She got everyone off the stage via the trapdoor and led them out of the building. One of Volker's men attempted to stop her, opening fire on—"

"Someone fired on them? But you said the President's safe. I remember you saying the President was safe."

"I did. He is. Prime Minister Voronsky was the only one hit. He was gravely injured and died almost immediately." If John had to guess, she didn't seem that upset Voronsky didn't make it. Although, given what he knew of the relations between Russia and the US at the moment, he supposed that wasn't all that surprising. "Luckily, your friend had excellent reflexes and returned fire immediately. She killed the shooter and delivered the leaders to their waiting security people before disappearing into the crowd. As far as I'm aware no one has seen her since, which is a good thing, considering the cover we created for the two of you." She leaned back, doing a fairly good job at pretending to be disinterested in the topic as she added, "It would be helpful if she could be read into that cover, it would be rather inconvenient for her to surface and bring it into question."

John was pretty sure that Olga wouldn't out him without a good reason and he wasn't about to do it either, even to the Vice President, so he simply said, "That isn't something we need to be concerned about, there's no reason to believe she would do that." He thought that seemed a nice, innocuous statement which addressed her concerns while carefully not identifying Olga. 

Given the wry smirk he got in response, his obfuscation hadn't gone unnoticed. "How fortunate for us. Now, I'm not going to demand you identify her to us, I understand the idea behind honor among agents."

"That's thieves," he pointed out.

She tilted her head slightly, regarding him. "It speaks of a professional courtesy amongst people usually considered disreputable and or unethical, a group that I would say includes secret agents, spies and their ilk. In a way Volker was right, you know, the things that are required to be done in the name of patriotism can be seen as terrible to those who don't understand the reasoning behind them, the necessity behind their _needing_ to be done. In the past America has asked you to do such tasks, asked all those carrying the name of Agent X to perform actions to protect our country without giving consideration to the person being given the orders. I refuse to do that anymore. I have only a simple request, a few questions I need answers to."

John made a 'go on' motion.

"Did Volker ever get his hands on the geryon?"

"No."

"I realize it's not currently in your possession, but will you able to return it once you return to American soil?"

He'd been very careful to keep where he'd stashed it a secret, there was no way Olga knew where to find it. It would take a bit of doing to retrieve, but… "Yes."

"Will you promise to consider staying with the program? Either in your current position or in some other capacity?"

"Madam Vice President, as I said before—"

"All I'm asking is you consider it, John, nothing more. You do that, can't you? As a favor to me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, but he knew his flat, practically rote response spoke volumes when it came to the idea of his returning. 

There wasn't much for him to say after that and the silence hung between them for a moment. His eyes began to drift close, but he fought against the encroaching exhaustion by blinked furiously and biting the inside of his cheek, the same way he had practically every other time he hadn't been drugged into unconsciousness; for a man like him, sleeping unprotected in a strange place was unwise and when injured? It was downright dangerous.

"I'm not sure if you've already been informed of this," Maccabee said quietly, "but this wing of the hospital was designed for special dignitaries and other VIPs. As a result, there are quite a number of security measures in place. Not only does it have its own designated guard, but the staff must submit to a handprint scan and all guests are carefully vetted before being allowed entrance."

"Really?" No, he hadn't been informed of that. Of course, he had no idea as to the competency of whomever the hospital had watching this wing, John had met far too many completely useless rent-a-cops in his day, but their mere existence as cannon fodder meant he could have a few extra seconds of time to react if anyone tried to breech the hospital's security to get to him. Maybe he could get a little rest, a light doze perhaps, that he could wake from easily.

"There are also a rather large number of secret service agents currently in the hall, where they will remain while the President has a checkup in the next room. He's fine, he's fine," she quickly added, holding out a hand to stop John before he could question her about it. "Helen was worried and the two of us managed to convince him that making sure he hadn't reinjured himself during the escape was a good idea."

John nodded. The President hadn't looked that great on the stage. 

"The summit has been cancelled due to Voronsky's death and due to the fallout of Volker's security breach it's been deemed too dangerous for me to explore Paris or see the sites so I've been left with the option of boarding Airforce One now and remaining there until the President is ready to return home or to be within the same protection zone as the President and his wife and as I'm not the hugest fan of planes I've chosen the latter. Since Eckhart and I don't have the kind of relationship that one needs in order to be in the same room while he's being examined my choices are either having my own checkup or hiding in here with you. If you don't mind?"

"No, no, it's definitely the lesser of two evils in here," he joked. "Can't say I'm going to be great company though."

"That's all right, I brought a book." She held up a thick, battered paperback. "I could read to you, if you like."

"It's not Ralph Waldo Emmerson, is it?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, I don't think you're in need of any motivation quotes at the moment. It's _Don Quixote_ , actually."

"Trying to keep me tilting at windmills, ma'am?"

"If the cause is just. Now, shush. _In a certain corner of La Mancha,_ " she began to read and John let her words wash over him, lulling him into sleep.


End file.
